Okay, I’m back. And when I say I’m back, I mean I’M BACK. Despite encouraging but frustratingly lackadaisical blood counts, persistent nausea and looming claustrophobia, I am starting to feel human again. There is a spark of my old(new?) self in me and I am longing to get out of the ward and into the (bloody) great outdoors again. Bridget came to see me, and brought with her a damn good home-cooked bolognese – the first meal I’ve really enjoyed in my new body. We then snuck out for a mile-and-a-half walk around Wormwood Scrubs, the sun and air was beautiful and I felt the faint but magical glimmer of spring-time in my soul.
Factoid for your digestion: Today I am starting to feel reborn, today also happens to be Greek Easter Sunday and how old am I? 33. Sound familiar? Coincidence?? Er…yes, probably.
Cannot wait to get out of here, I feel like saying “Thanks guys, I can take it from here.” and just getting out of the ward and start building my new life. Alas, my neuts are hanging around 0.5 and there is still an Indiana-Jonesian obstacle course of medical dangers ahead. These are to be negotiated over the next 60 days or so- but I should get out of here in a week or so.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m battered, not out of the proverbial woods, nauseous and fairly weak. However, something in me has switched. There is a clear feeling: Not this time, Dr. Cancer.
This week I have written, in large friendly letters, a two-word slogan on the notice-board in my room. This has acted as an inspiring mantra at this time. You may want to take this sublime messsage with you on your travels. It reads simply:
